


you say summer ends (i say we hold on while we can)

by ratherbeyouthful



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Getting Together, Hispanic Jack Kelly, Lake Trip, M/M, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Pining, Summer, Walmart, but not because they got togther, getting better, outdoors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbeyouthful/pseuds/ratherbeyouthful
Summary: Crutchie’s hoping that things get better, but he’s been too long in settling for second best.~A story told of our favorite boys in the summer, at a lake house, without parental supervision. In which Jack drives a minivan, the board games are neverending, and oh! most of them are in love. What a surprise!
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Elmer (Newsies), Crutchie/Jack Kelly, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15





	1. let’s hold this while it shines (light it up and burn it bright)

**Author's Note:**

> All titles are my own. I promise, the story is much funnier than the description makes it sound. 
> 
> Songs mentioned in this chapter:  
> “Hotel California” by The Eagles  
> “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell
> 
> Enjoy!

_ The foreground features a teen boy grinning at the camera, teeth impeccably white. He holds a rolling suitcase in one hand and his phone in the other. A backpack bulges over his shoulder. In the back corner of the photo, a van’s trunk is visible with luggage spilling out.  _

_ The snapchat reads, “LAKE TIME”. _

~

They finish stuffing Race’s suitcase (he brought an actual suitcase, with the spinning wheels and an extendable handle. It has glow-in-the-dark stickers all over the canvas front. His mom made him dig it out of his closet) into the back of Jack’s bright green van two hours after the crew pulled up at his midsized suburban home. Isabella Higgins, Race’s overprotective but charming mother, made the boys sit down and eat a large breakfast the moment they got there. 

They get on the road two hours later than they intended, but you can’t tell Ma Higgins no. Just like with Medda. Mothers are unstoppable forces indeed. 

(Plus, per Spot’s solemn decree, you never say no to Isabella Higgins’ delectable apple pancakes. Especially not when she offers cinnamon to sprinkle on top.) 

“Last call for anything we missed,” Davey calls from shotgun, maps folded in between his legs. He has a checklist and a pencil and a printed out spreadsheet that he and his mother made half a month before. “Everyone has their bags?” 

“I got mine.” 

“I double-checked, Race has everything you told him to bring.” 

“Fuck you, Spot, I said I had it.” 

Davey clears his throat, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. “Does everyone have their chargers?” 

“I have mine,” Crutchie chirps from the captain’s chair directly behind Jack’s seat. Davey makes a note on his checklist, and Race snickers. 

“Laugh all you want, Race, but Dave’s the only reason we’ll make it there in one piece,” Jack tells him, mock-sternly. Crutchie rolls his eyes, and then offers Jack a blinding smile through the rearview mirror. 

“Shit,” Albert hisses, rifling through his bag. “Hold still, Race.” He flips his bag upside down into Race’s lap as the other protests. Spot leans over from Race’s other side to help him sift through the pile. Race’s eyes bug out of his head when they start digging through his lap. “Shit, fuck, cheddar on a corkscrew, I don't have my charger.” 

“You really have Batman underwear?” Spot asks, snapping the waistband to send the garment flying across the car. Finch bats it with his book, where it snags on Crutchie’s left forearm crutch. He hasn't tucked them in the door yet. 

“You got a thing against our lord and savior?” Albert asks. He catches the underwear when Crutchie tosses it back to him. 

Spot shrugs, settling himself more firmly in the corner. “Marvel’s better.” 

Albert exudes a theatrical gasp, his underwear-holding hand clapping over his heart. “Heathen.” 

“What about snacks?” Crutchie asks. “Jack, you promised me Lemonheads.” 

“And I shall deliver,” the fool in question responds, backing out of Race’s driveway as Race’s mother waves goodbye from the porch. After he’s safely settled on the street, he looks at Davey. 

“Walmart?” He asks. 

Davey sighs, tosses a glance to the rest of the car (Spot and Finch have begun a repetitive chant of “Walmart! Walmart! Walmart!” as Albert tries to force his underwear over Race’s head), and pulls out his phone. 

“Walmart,” he says, and the car cheers. 

~ 

“Siri, you've betrayed me once more. There’s no left turn allowed, you incompetent machine.” 

“This is why Samsungs are better!” 

“Shut your whore mouth, Albert.” 

~

The trip to Walmart deters them another forty-five minutes. 

The place is near the middle of this part of town, which both Finch and Race live near. Jack parks as close as he can to the doors, while Race and Albert fight over who can get out the trunk faster. Spot grabs both their ankles as they prepare to launch themselves through the luggage-piled opening. 

“That’s our stuff, you dipshits, and I don’t want Davey cleaning up your messes.” Race pouts as Spot pulls him back into his seat. With a glare, Albert slides away from the trunk. 

Crutchie slides himself out of the van, immediately heading to lean on the cart corral that they parked beside. Jack checks him over once and then kicks a rock at Davey, who rolls his eyes. Race, Albert, and Spot all pile out in a heap of chaos, while Finch jumps out just after them in order to avoid getting hit with flailing limbs. 

“Walmart!” Race crows, and Spot steps on his shoe. 

“You guys have twenty minutes,” Davey tells them. “Wait near the little place with the glasses, that way we’re sure we have everyone. And no messing around. Please.”

“You heard him!” Jack calls, grinning. Only a trip to Walmart can bring out this type of mania in half-children. “Advance, troops!” 

Race yells, jumps on Albert’s back, and holds on tightly as the other boy sprints to the front doors. Spot films them, zooming in as far as possible as their group marches along. One of the Walmart employees looks at them with trepidation from inside the doors. 

They are right to be afraid, even though they don't know it yet. 

Jack slings his arm across Davey’s shoulders, and the taller boy rolls his eyes, but allows the arm to remain. Jack launches into a quick tirade, about everything and nothing, just to talk. He’s jittery today, and he knows Davey can tell. Crutchie speeds up, just a little, and falls into a quick, banter-like conversation with Finch, who was a last minute addition to the group. Spot quits filming and jogs to where Race and Albert are existing in the state of being where others take their time and they cause chaos. 

(They never wait. What they’re doing cannot possibly be called waiting.) 

Jack grins to himself as he scuffs his shoes across the pavement. A regular child, he knows, but as if that’s going to stop him. It’s never stopped him. “Jack,” Davey says, carefully watching the group just ahead of them. “What are you doing?” 

“Dragging my shoes,” he says, and anticipates Davey’s question of  _ why. _ “Because I can. Because it’s a free country and I can do what I want.” 

“That’s your argument?” Davey asks. Jack frowns a little. 

“It’s just a shoe, Dave.” They fall into silence. He knows Davey’s been stressed out recently, with the beginning of senior year and applying to colleges. He also knows Davey’s been ridiculously behind. He’s barely even started looking. It’s because he’s so terrified of making a bad decision that he won’t make one at all. 

They reach the doors, and Race sighs dramatically. “It took you guys  _ forever _ ,” he whines. Spot blinks at him, and then punches him in the arm. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says, waving his free hand to indicate how little he cares. “Twenty minutes, guys.” 

Race and Albert grab a cart and immediately rush inside. Spot trails after them at a much slower pace, his camera at the ready. Finch offers to hold a basket for Crutchie, and when the other boy looks back at Jack and Davey, Jack throws him a thumbs-up, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. Crutchie frowns, but goes with Finch anyway. 

Jack doesn’t have need for a basket. He doesn’t intend on buying anything other than Lemonheads for Crutchie, and whatever Davey wants. But they have twenty minutes, and he ponders the use of that as they nod to the tired, teenage Walmart employee before walking through the store. There’s sure to be something they can do for twenty minutes. 

Jack, as usual, has a brilliant idea.

~

“Hear me out,” Race says, and Albert shakes his head. “I’m serious!”

“You’re never serious,” Spot says, and cuffs him over the head. Race retaliates by stepping on his foot. 

“I want to grab what I need before we get kicked out,” Albert tells them adamantly. 

“Now there’s a thought,” Spot says, and grins at Race. This Spot, the one that’s made appearances over the past year, is quick to smile and even quicker to break something. Race crashes right into his jagged edges and loves the way it feels. Seeing Spot now, quicksilver grin fading back into his mercurial temperament, Race wants to kiss him. 

That’s the problem. Race has wanted to kiss Spot for quite a long time. But it gets worse: he doesn’t want to stop there. He wants to make his mother’s apple pancakes for him, and dance with him in the kitchen, and flick him with the wet dish towel when he isn’t looking. He wants to read a book and have Spot’s feet swung up in his lap, and crack his toes just to make him shriek. He wants to run through the rain with him and stomp in all the puddles. He wants to climb trees with him, and scratch their names onto those kid playgrounds at parks. He wants to see Spot’s face touched with candlelight when he blows out candles on a birthday cake, year after year after year. 

And then there are the  _ other _ things he wants to do with Spot, the things he wants Spot to  _ do _ to him, and he shouldn't be thinking of those in the middle of Walmart, or even outside the safety of an empty room and locked doors. He tries, somewhat unsuccessfully, to push those things from the forefront of his mind. It’s hard when Spot stands there with his dark hair and suntanned skin, brown eyes and a grin that Race wants to kiss off his face. 

“As much as I like the idea of getting kicked out of Walmart,” Albert begins, somewhat grumpily, “I actually have things to get, and we have to wait for everyone else to finish. If we get kicked out, we’ll just be standing in the parking lot waiting for Davey to come out with the keys.” He rolls his eyes, adjusting his snapback. “What could you even do to get kicked out?” 

Race and Spot turn to each other and grin maniacally. 

“Ride bikes around the store,” Spot tells him. “Climb in the ball container.” 

“Sneak into the back of the store and make out,” Race says. “Or the bathrooms.” He realizes this is implausible when he sees Spot’s expression, and quickly backtracks. “Build a fort in the sleeping aisle with all the blankets.” 

“Wage war on the employees,” Spot offers. “Find water guns and fill them up in the sinks.” 

“Pull a fire extinguisher and whale on something.” 

“Whatever,” Albert says. “I’m going to get a charger, and some snacks. Anyone want anything?”

“A Snapple Apple, if it’s there, and enough trail mix to give Spot peanut allergies.” Race beams, proud of himself. 

“Go get it yourself,” Albert tells him, and heads off for his charger. Race flips him off, an unseemly sight in his pink flip-flops and billowing yellow button up, red plastic shades over his eyes. Spot snorts. 

“So,” Race drawls, wondering if he should buy a vape or a cheap pack of cigarettes. The answer, he knows, is no, especially with Spot here. “What are we going to do?” 

“We’re going to figure out what we want for the car ride,” Spot tells him, “and then we’ll cause so much commotion they’ll have no choice but to get rid of us.” 

Race considers their options. Making out in the back of the store or the restrooms still screams his name. Especially with Spot. Now  _ there’s _ a thought: Spot screaming his name, hands in Race’s curls and his arms so pretty—

“Earth to dumbass,” Spot calls, waving his hand in Race’s face. 

“ _ Idiota _ responding, over and out,” Race chirps. The sentiment comes across clearly. 

“You still want that Snapple?” Spot asks. “Then we can check out the CDs, find something horrible to annoy Jack.” 

“I love the way you think,” Race tells him. “But we can’t forget the trail mix.” Spot nods, and Race offers him his arm jokingly. Spot stares at it for several seconds before walking towards the next aisle. 

Ah, well. No making out in a public restroom. 

What a wasted opportunity. 

~

Crutchie fidgets with the hem of his shirt as he waits. He and Finch stand in the vision center, bottles of peach Snapple and yellow Gatorade in their hands. Finch has a pack of gum, but Crutchie turned down a stick when he offered. Where is everyone? 

“There they are,” Finch says, and points to where Spot and Race stand in line. Crutchie spots trail mix, a Snapple Apple, and other various things he can’t quite make out. “I don’t know where Albert is.” 

“They probably split up,” Crutchie says, and Finch smiles brightly at him. Crutchie returns it, the space underneath his ribs hollow. He likes Finch well enough; Finch has always been kind to him, and always accommodating and thoughtful. He’s witty when he wants to be, and he’s made Crutchie laugh multiple times with antics using his slingshot. He’s just not sure he can muster the energy to be kind right now. 

_ To: Captain Jack _

_ Just so you know we’re ready to go  _

“Yo, Crutch!” Race calls, sneering. Spot elbows him, and Race retaliates by smacking his friend with the trail mix bag as they approach. Crutchie grins, but it’s like being wrapped in duct tape and speaking through a layer of cotton. It’s hard, and he wants to take a nap.

“What did you get, Race?” Finch asks politely. He’s stellar, he really is. Crutchie knows Jack thinks so, at least. 

“CDs for the car ride,” Race crows. “Jack’s gonna  _ hate _ them.”

“Race,” Spot says. “If we’re gonna do the thing, we need to do it before he gets back.” 

“What?” 

“You’ll see,” Race promises, grabbing Spot by the hand and dragging him away from the stand of glasses. “It’s gonna be great.” 

Shortly after they duck out of the store, plastic bags in hand, Albert comes through the self-checkout with a charger looped around his shoulders and a plastic bag of chips in his hands. “Where are Race and Spot?” He asks, and Crutchie shrugs. “What about Jack and Davey?”

“Haven’t seen them,” Finch offers, and Crutchie pulls out his phone to text Jack. “I’m going to use the bathroom, don’t leave without me.” Albert and Crutchie grunt in assent. 

_ To: Captain Jack _

_ Please don’t forget my lemonheads thanks :) _

He could go get them himself, but Jack promised. Just as Jack has promised to take him on that trip to Santa Fe, to find out what his parents look like and who they really are, just for moral support. Just as Jack has promised never to let their friendship waver although he has a crush and is close to having a boyfriend. When Jack makes a promise, a promise that isn’t throwaway, he makes it with his whole head, his whole heart. Jack Kelly promises with his bones. 

“I’m sure Davey’s buying about a hundred things he thinks we’ll need,” Crutchie jokes, and Albert snorts. “We’re lucky he made sure you had your charger.” 

“I know,” Albert says through a grin. “I complained, but he was right.” 

“He usually is,” Crutchie says. “We’re lucky to have him.” Jack is lucky to have him. And Crutchie loves him, but loving him hurts too when he’ll never have anything with Jack. 

He remembers when they met Davey at school, how he was the one to explain Jack (“ _ this here’s the famous Jack Kelly _ ”), the enigma and charismatic being that he was. He showed Davey the ropes during lunch, how to tread around Jack, what things to avoid saying, what his jokes could mean. In many ways, Crutchie reached Davey first before Jack, after Jack declared Davey part of the group. 

After four months’ worth of jokes, and replacement, and small undermining things, Crutchie had asked Jack what was going on. Jack had told him about his crush on Davey, and then proceeded to shatter the last shreds of Crutchie’s hopeful heart. And so had begun a new saga, of course, and Crutchie was relegated to friend instead of the person always by Jack’s side. None of it is Davey’s fault. But it’s hard not to feel bitter, even though there are so many things Davey can be, and is, that Crutchie will never come close to. That he sometimes wants. 

Be still, his disloyal heart. 

_ From: Captain Jack _

_ We're outside already, van's unlocked  _

Crutchie frowns. "They're outside already, Albert. I guess they didn't feel like waiting." 

Albert fixes him with a frown. "Davey's so adamant on meeting places so he knows where everyone is." 

"Jack's not," Crutchie says, and hates himself for the tremble in his voice. It's not over Jack, it's over how unwanted he is and how drained he feels and how every single time he tries to do something normal, he feels the urge to sleep for days and not wake up. It's not over Jack. Jack's just the thing that makes it visible, because he's the only thing Crutchie can't hide. 

Albert's frown changes, as if he's redone it but slightly to the left, through a different frame, whatever, Crutchie can't focus. They've grown apart recently, but freshman year they used to be nearly inseparable. Crutchie would get into fights and Jack would be there to take the blows while Albert dragged Crutchie out. Albert had complained to Crutchie about his crush on Race for two years before meeting Elmer and being persuaded that Race wasn't the only guy out there for him. And despite things having changed so much, Crutchie has remained relatively the same. And Albert knows that. 

“Is everything okay with you, Crutch?” He asks, and Crutchie considers lying to him, telling him that everything’s fine. And it wouldn’t be much of a lie, since things really are good and he supposes he just doesn’t know how to see that. His best friend is happy. He’s just selfish enough to want to be happy himself. Even knowing the costs. 

“I’m tired and cranky,” Crutchie offers instead. “Jack and I have been fighting a little lately and I was hoping this trip would make it better.” 

Albert nods, mulling over his friend’s words. Although Albert is rougher around the edges than Crutchie, he’s still thoughtful when he needs to be. 

“I’m guessing you don’t want to be thrown any more curveballs,” he says. Crutchie tries to smile at the baseball metaphor; Albert has played since they were children. “I think once we get there, things will settle down. Everyone will be having too much fun to be weird.” 

Strangely enough, it helps. “Thanks, Albert,” he says. That done with, they both scan around for Finch. Albert spots him walking towards them, long strides, his slingshot tucked in his pocket. 

“Hey guys,” he says, and Crutchie offers him a faint grin. “Sorry I took so long, there was something I had to grab that I forgot.” 

_ To: Cowboy _

_ Okay we’re on our way out _

“Jack texted,” Crutchie tells him. “He and Davey are already in the car.”

Finch raises an eyebrow, something that no one can do but him and Race. Crutchie envies him; the skill drives Jack crazy. “Wanna go find out what Spot and Race were doing?” 

“Sure,” Crutchie says, and the three head for the exit.

~

_ A video zooms in on a flagpole, bearing the flag of America. Snickering can be heard in the background. Secured underneath the flag is a pair of Batman underwear strung up by binder clips. The video zooms back out, and turns to zoom in on Spot’s triumphant face. Someone screeches indignantly from another direction, and the view swivels. Marching towards the camera is Albert, red of hair and face. Crutchie and Finch follow like the backup girls of a cheer squad.  _

_ The caption reads, “marvel is superior”. _

~

“Get it down,” Albert demands, and Crutchie snickers a bit. Race lets out a cackle, and the teenage Walmart employee by the doors looks over at them. When she sees the Batman underwear, she visibly lets out a sigh. Crutchie feels a little sorry for her, but not so sorry that his good mood vanishes. 

“No,” Spot says, and Albert reaches for the underwear. He manages to snag the bottom, and Finch snorts. The binder clips come down in a shower as Albert yanks, hitting Crutchie in the head. Race apologizes, but Crutchie waves him off. 

"I'm going to have to ask you to lea—is that underwear?" The Walmart girl asks. Crutchie blinks; he hadn't noticed her come over. While she still looks exasperated, there's a hint of a grin hiding in her cheeks. He notes a name tag,  _ Lee.  _

"Yep," Race proclaims, popping the end of the word. She looks at him, and Crutchie sees her do a mental once-over on the whole group. Her gaze doesn't rest long on his crutches, surprisingly. She's more focused on Finch’s face, and he smiles at her. “We were flying it as a flag.” 

Lee surveys Race, and then looks back at the garment clutched in Albert’s hand. “Marvel’s better.” 

Crutchie laughs, high and clear and one of the realest laughs he’s laughed in a long time. Spot crows in agreement, while Albert crosses his arms and tries to hide a smile. 

“Told you, Albo, now get in the car because I can see Davey losing it,” Spot says, and Lee offers Finch another smile. Crutchie turns around, but not before he spots Finch pulling out a pen and scribbling on her wrist. Huh. An interesting development, there. And he thought Finch was into him. 

Maybe that was a little conceited. 

They trudge to the car, Crutchie’s crutches clicking the whole way, and Finch jogs to catch up to them. Albert elbows him in the side, and Finch shoves him into the nearby cart corral. Crutchie turns his head and sees the Walmart girl, Lee, grinning at them from the doors. With a shake of his head, he reaches for the van door and opens it. 

Jack and Davey sit in the front seats, neither one talking. Davey’s face has gone blotchy at his cheekbones, while Jack is silent. Crutchie blinks, but the rest of the boys break the silence as they pile in. Race yells at Albert for stepping on his foot. 

“We got everybody?” Jack asks, and there’s a strained sound in his cheer. Davey turns to make sure, and there’s something mortified in his gaze. Everyone notices. 

“Why’d you come out to the car, Jack?” Race asks, seated as far from Albert as he can in the middle seat of the car. This means he’s nearly in Spot’s lap, and Crutchie makes eye contact with the shorter boy, who glares and looks away. 

Jack hesitates, but only for a moment. In that moment, Crutchie feels the bottom of his world fall away. “We got kicked out.” 

The car explodes into chaos as Davey buries his face in his hands. Crutchie holds onto his forearm crutches for dear life. He feels as if he’s going to be shaken off his seat and out of the car. He’s lost something, and he’s not sure what it is. It could be so many things. 

“What did you  _ do _ ?” Finch asks, grinning a little. He looks over at Crutchie, who offers him a weak smile in return. He should be amused. He should be laughing his head off. Jack won’t notice his silence. 

“A customer made a homophobic comment so I kissed Davey and then punched the guy in the face,” Jack says, a torrent of words and no pause for anyone to catch their breath. The car screeches, Race the loudest, Albert’s eyes shooting to Davey. The boy hasn’t looked up from his hands. 

Crutchie crumbles. 

“Get some, Jack!” Race cheers, and Crutchie plasters on a smile so he doesn’t look like a hurricane has run through his entire world. 

“They asked us to leave right away.” Davey doesn’t add anything else, gearing up the Google Maps on his phone and plugging it back into the charger. Crutchie carefully lowers his crutches beside his seat, and knots his hands around his wrists instead. He’ll be fine. Really. He will. 

“Back on the road, boys!” Jack declares cheerfully, and side-eyes Davey. Albert lets out a cheer, and Jack pulls through the parking space and sets course for the lake house. Race passes a CD to Davey, with instructions not to let Jack see the cover. Davey pushes the disc into the radio, and Crutchie lets his head fall back against the seat. Finch grins a little at his phone. 

They drive while the opening strains of instruments fill the car. Crutchie grins when Jack groans, and Spot snickers from the backseat. Following the strains of guitar and piano come raspy lyrics, crooned softly through the speakers. 

_ “On a dark desert highway…”  _

“Seriously, Spot?” Jack scowls, as the Eagles sound through the speakers. “The Eagles? Have you no class?” 

“ _ Class _ ?” Spot nearly shrieks from the backseat. “Excuse you, Cowboy, but nobody disses the Eagles.” 

The joke’s on Spot though, and Crutchie knows it. Jack’s been pretending to hate older music since the fifth grade, and no one else knows but Crutchie. And maybe Davey. His amusement sours a bit, but lightens when he sees Jack mouthing the lyrics in the mirror as he merges onto the highway. His sunglasses look so pretty, even though Crutchie loves his blue eyes. 

“Hey Jack,” Crutchie calls. Jack grunts as he switches a lane, and then relaxes. For as much as they joke around, he’s one of the safest drivers they’ve got. Both Race and Finch are awful, and Davey doesn’t have his full license yet because of how nervous he gets. “Can I have my Lemonheads?” 

“ _ Up ahead in the distance _ ,” Spot sings into Race’s shoulder, the boy still as far from Albert as possible.  _ “I saw a shimmering light…”  _ If he’s not trying to sing poorly on purpose, Crutchie pities their ears. 

“Sorry, Crutch,” Jack begins, and Crutchie plummets. He’s down for the count, and not getting back up today. Maybe this was the last straw. There's no coming back from this. “I was too busy to grab them.” 

_ You promised,  _ Crutchie almost says, and stops himself. Being selfish will only hurt him, when Jack has kissed Davey and he’s left with nothing. Is it too bad that Crutchie wants to hold on to what he isn’t allowed to have?

Finch rustles through his bag, dropping his phone in his lap. “Here, Crutchie,” he says, and the shorter blond looks over to see him holding out a yellow package. “I saw him getting kicked out and went to get you some.” Jack nods, like all is forgiven. Judge, jury, and absolver of his own wrongdoings. 

“Thank you, Finch,” Crutchie says, sinking back into his seat, Lemonhead box clutched loosely in his hand. After a beat, Spot resumes singing. Crutchie didn’t notice that he had stopped. He’s remarkably better, but his voice still holds so much gravel it’s surprising. 

_ “I was thinking to myself, this could be heaven or this could be hell…”  _

Crutchie closes his eyes and tries not to cry. 

~

They arrive at the lake house at two in the afternoon. The sun hits Jack hard in the eyes, and Race snickers even though the other boy has sunglasses. Race’s sunglasses are better. Dollar store plastic shades that get the job done. 

Race and Albert quickly grab any luggage within reach and sprint for the front doors. Spot hollers after them, a mashup of words probably telling Race to let him have the top bunk. If there are bunk beds, which Albert already tried to call dibs on in the car. Medda, Jack’s adoptive mom, redid the furniture over the school year, and not even Jack knows what it looks like. He had been assured there would be enough beds for everyone. 

Unfortunately, hindsight’s a bitch, and he didn’t grab the keys from Jack before taking off for the door. Race plops his rolling suitcase down on the sidewalk and sits on it, picking at the glow-in-the-dark stickers he attached to it when he was so much younger. Albert tries to grab the candy cigarette from Race’s mouth, and Race smacks his arm so hard Davey looks up from the car. 

“Hurry up, Jack!” Race screams. It’s a good thing this cabin has no neighbors within earshot, or they’d be about to make so many noise complaints. 

“If you and Albert carried more, we’d be there faster!” Jack hollers in response, and Race giggles. He’s been looking forward to this for two months. Raising his candy cigarette in acknowledgement, he takes off his flip-flops and wiggles his toes. 

Spot sidles up beside him, four backpacks hooked onto his arms and holding a large cooler in one hand. Race takes a second to stare at his arms. He’s helpless to resist. His muscles bulge underneath the weight of the bags, and added to the sweat and the summer heat—

“You look like your arms have tumors,” Race blurts, and immediately wants to jump in the lake to cool the burning of his face. 

“What?” Spot asks, partly offended and partly amused. He flexes, and Race bites his lip to stop from drooling. He can feel spit in his mouth, and it's mortifying. “Baby, you don't like these?” 

Race chokes. 

Spot laughs, brown eyes warm and pretty, everything he wants, for longer than anyone knows. And that's the thing. No one knows. If he has his way, no one ever will. 

When you’re resigned to have no hope, it doesn't get easier. 

“You’ll be turnin’ heads, sweetheart,” Race sneers, squinting under his red dollar store sunglasses. The endearment tastes strange and wonderful in his mouth. “You’ll have skirts trippin’ over themselves.” 

“Just the skirts, huh?” 

“ _ All _ the skirts, Spottie. And more besides.” 

“Bet your ass,” Spot says. 

“I bet this thing so many times, people think it’s somethin’ worth winnin’,” Race snickers, slapping his thigh lightly. Spot grins, fleeting and bright and lovely. “You know I never lose.” 

“Al _ right,” _ Albert says, adjusting his baseball cap. “If the two of you can stop flirting for a minute, Jack has the keys.” 

“Jealous, Albie?” Race simpers, batting his eyelashes behind his shades. “Y'know, I could keep you company while Elmer’s away.” 

“No thanks,” Albert laughs, punching Race’s shoulder. Jack comes up the sidewalk and fits the keys neatly into the lock. Race cheers loudly, and the rest of the group falls in behind them. Then he remembers Albert’s response. 

“Shame, Al, you’re missin’ out on all this,” Race says, eliciting a snort from his best friend. Jack pushes the door open with his shoulder, and swings open the door to the house. Race is jumping up and down with excitement. He doesn’t know when he got up off his suitcase. Maybe when he was teasing Spot?

Speaking of teases, Race had grabbed Spot’s hand when he went to fly Albert’s underwear as a flag, and he’d had a hard time keeping it together. Spot’s hand was warm and rough and  _ huge _ , and Race has a  _ thing _ for huge hands, how Spot’s palm was nearly twice the size of his own, and broad, his fingers long and calloused. He’d nearly blanked out the moment he did it, and he’s been flashing back to the moment at inopportune times. 

“Welcome,” Jack says, cutting through Race’s thoughts, “to Miss Medda’s house of love.” Finch snickers as Jack drops his arms and heads inside. Race is right on his heels, Spot close to his elbow. Race’s stomach does a leap for joy when he sees the house. 

The front door opens to a short hallway, that then leads to a large living room with tasteful furniture in blue and green, with deep wooden walls and various carpets set down near the couches. A large TV stretches across one wall, the wall opposite from the kitchen. The kitchen is huge, only slightly smaller than the living room, and has plenty of seating. The main staircase is off the side of the living room, while if Race leans and squints, he can see…

“Is that a spiral staircase?” Spot asks, and Race nearly squeals again. He looks at Spot, who’s grinning back at him. He loves seeing Spot smile. The boy doesn’t do enough of it. 

“When Davey says go,” he shouts, already headed for the staircase behind the kitchen and towards what must be the garage, “race you!” 

He hears Davey sigh as he drops his suitcase halfway through the kitchen. “Three…two…one…” The taller boy pauses for a moment, and then gives the green light. “Go!” 

Race propels himself up the stairs, shrunken in on himself just because he’s slightly afraid he’ll hit his head. He tries to take the stairs two at a time, but ends up just tripping over himself. When he pushes himself back to his feet, his elbow and chin smart. He hopes he doesn’t have a bruise. His flip-flops slap on the stairs, and he curses. 

Near the top of the steps, he jumps three and sprawls at the top, trying to push himself back to his feet when his hands hit carpet. When he looks up, his heart sinks. 

Spot stands there, bags still on his majestic arms, not even panting. He’s sneering, eyes squinted slightly, although there’s surprise in seeing Race sprawled on the floor. 

“Loser,” Spot says, and reaches a hand down to help him off the ground. “Are you okay?” He says this probably in response to Race flopping facedown on the carpet, hopefully not the cross-eyed look Race got when Spot’s broad palm was shoved in his face. He has a big hands kink, sue him. 

Or don’t, because he loses more bets than he’d ever tell Spot. 

“What do you think, Conlon?” Race snaps, still staring at the proffered limb. 

“As fine as ever,” Spot says, and winks. Race sputters, accepting the broad hand that drags him to his feet. “C’mon, pretty boy, let's go declare my victory.” 

_ Pretty boy… _

Well. He could get used to that. 

~ 

_ A video shows footage of a mock ceremony, with Spot standing on a coffee table and Race kneeling beside him. Davey stands with the lanyard that holds both Jack’s car keys and the keys to the house in his hand. He affixes the lanyard around Spot’s neck and raises his hand. The boys cheer enthusiastically.  _

_ The camera zooms in on a pouting Race, clutching a pair of Batman underwear as a second-place trophy. The boy sticks out his tongue when he sees the attention pointed at him.  _

_ “It was the flip-flops,” he says.  _

~

Crutchie takes the only first floor bedroom. He can do the stairs. It's not a matter of if he’s capable or not; he is. But he doesn't want to have to make that climb at three in the morning when he’s exhausted, and he’s not letting anyone carry him up the stairs when his leg hurts from extended activity. Not even Albert, who hustles him around so much he might as well. 

And not Jack. Not now. Never Jack. At one time, it would have been Jack. But not now. Not ever again. 

Race, Spot, and Albert took the room with the two bunk beds, one bunk reserved for Elmer when he gets there. Crutchie pities them, because the whole friend group knows from the last trip that Elmer is  _ loud.  _ It’s something he’s embarrassed about every time they bring it up, but Albert brags about it when no one wants to listen. 

Specs, Elmer, and Romeo should arrive tomorrow. Crutchie’s excited, because he and Romeo get along spectacularly. They’re both around the same height, and Romeo speaks both Spanish and Portuguese, which Crutchie always has fun imitating. It should be enough to take his mind off Jack and the recurring but not entirely related heaviness that seems built up inside him. 

Sometimes he feels heavy, sometimes he feels so impossibly light, like there’s nothing left of him and he could be made of air for all he knows, no anchor to earth, no tie to the land and the people he loves. He hates both feelings the same, in different ways. When he’s heavy he feels flat. Each motion drags at him, like he has weights on his ankles. Like he can’t move a muscle because he’s filled with sand. He feels grainy. Like everything within him shifts irreversibly at some new change. And yet, while he feels like that, he simultaneously feels as if every inch of him is packed tight down, stuck together with no room for change, but would crumble apart with the right amount of disaster. 

He cannot decide which is worse: the feeling of being weighed down or the feeling of falling away. 

Some would call him despondent; he’s heard Miss Medda use that word and each time he hears it he feels a little fear. He should not be afraid of a word, but he is terrified of many. There are many things he is afraid of. But sometimes, feeling afraid feels a little too much like feeling tired. 

A knock comes at his door, startling him. He shoves his bag further onto his bed and snatches up his crutches. “Come in!” He calls. The door swings open and reveals Spot. 

“Hey,” he grunts, and Crutchie tries to give him a smile. It cracks and wobbles across his face like thin ice splinters when it bears weight, but Spot doesn't seem to notice. He is oblivious to disaster. 

“What can I help you with, Spot?” Crutchie asks him brightly. He is plastic yellow, and his insides screech with lies and deceit. 

“Jack’s getting the pontoon up and running,” Spot tells him. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.” 

“Thank you, Spot,” Crutchie says, and moves his right crutch a step backward. “But I think I’ll stay behind this time.” 

“You were really excited for this trip,” Spot says, narrowing his eyes. “Almost as excited as Jack and Race.” 

“I want to go,” Crutchie lies, flashing Spot a small smile. This one doesn't shatter like the last. “But my leg’s starting to ache, and I know my limits. I don't want to make it worse for tomorrow.” 

Spot nods in understanding, all concern and confusion wiped from his brow. In its place are cold steel and granite, iron shoulders and an obsidian face. “I’ll tell him. Take two acetaminophen and then maybe take a nap.” 

“I know how to handle myself, Spot,” Crutchie says, gently but firmly. “I’ve been managing this my whole life.” 

Spot has the decency to look ashamed. “I’m sorry, Crutchie. I know that.” 

“I know you do,” the other boy answers. “Go have fun, I’ll be here when you guys get back.” 

Spot turns and heads for the door as Crutchie calls out. “Hey Spot? No offense, but why did  _ you _ come tell me?” Spot understands his meaning after a second: where is Jack? 

“Jack asked me to,” the other boy grunts. “Said he was too busy, but figured someone should tell you.” 

“Oh.” Crutchie moves his left crutch backward this time, readjusting his weight. “Thank you, Spot.” 

“Welcome. And Crutch?” The barrel-chested boy half-turns, doorknob in his left hand. “Give us a call if you get lonely.” And he leaves as Crutchie sits down on the bed. 

He doesn't even know what that feels like anymore. 

~

Spot Conlon has a bone to pick with many people. There are several, right now, that top the list. Number one, first and foremost forever, is Racetrack Higgins. But he won’t be addressing it anytime soon because of various reasons. 

Number two, which occurred several minutes ago, is Jack Kelly. Now, he’s known Jack even before the man became captain of the baseball team at the opposing school. They were in foster care together, where Spot hit with his fists and Jack hit back with poorly chosen words. He’s gotten a lot more eloquent since then, probably due to Davey. Kid’s a walking thesaurus and dictionary. 

Spot knew Jack before he transferred to the other boy’s school at the beginning of sophomore year. And he knew Jack before Davey transferred at the beginning of junior year. He saw what the new kid did to the nearly-impervious Jack Kelly, dreamer of far-fetched dreams and stirrer of unattainable hopes. 

He saw how Davey traded places with Crutchie in the blink of an eye, and Jack bore no shame. 

It’s almost fanatical, the way he went about it. One day Crutchie was there, right by his side, the first person Jack looked out for. And the next day, Crutchie was blinking in surprise as Jack abandoned him. So was everyone else when they noticed. 

It’s not Davey’s fault. No one thinks that, not even Crutchie, who’s the greatest actor Spot has ever seen. Davey’s too good for the rest of them, and maybe the stark difference is what drew Jack towards him. Davey has dreams and concrete plans, and he knows what to do to get where he wants to go. 

Spot thinks it over when they’re cutting through water, riding gentle laps of the lake’s surface. Jack is trying to explain to Davey how to drive the pontoon boat, but the other boy looks very nervous. Spot doesn’t understand being afraid of some boat. He doesn’t understand a lot of what makes Davey nervous, actually, but he rolls with it. 

Albert opens up the bone-picking for him. “Hey, Jack,” he says, “where’s Crutchie?” 

The thing is, Spot picked up on the neglect in Crutchie’s tone—that Jack was ignoring him, so he was beginning to ignore himself. So he said not a word to Jack about Crutchie’s absence, in order to see what Jack said. So far, it’s been nothing. 

Jack blinks, looks around the boat, and then looks at Albert. “I don’t know,” he says, and Finch looks up sharply. “Spot, he didn’t come?” 

“Didn’t want to,” Spot says, and Jack accepts that with a nod before turning back to Davey at the wheel. Albert, on the other hand, swivels to face Spot, hair redder in the sun. He’s taken off the snapback he always wears. 

“Why not?” He asks. Finch echoes his question. 

“He said his leg was starting to bother him,” Spot says loudly, eyes on Jack’s back. If he squints, maybe the other is paying attention. The boat’s not  _ that _ big. “Said he was fine. He knows what he’s doing, and he can call any of us if he needs it.” 

No reaction from Jack. Albert nods, and Finch frowns, getting back on his phone. “That your Walmart girl, Finchy?” Race calls tauntingly. 

“Lee?” Finch asks, and then blinks. “She was on her lunch but had to go a few minutes ago. Now it’s just my younger brother. And I texted Crutchie to see what he was doing.” 

“Has he been okay lately?” Albert asks, and Davey relinquishes the wheel to Jack, turning to the conversation. “I don’t think he was weird, exactly, but he told me he was really tired and I didn’t know if something was wrong, like if he was getting sick.” It’s bad when Crutchie gets sick. Along with the damage to his leg, he has a highly susceptible immune system, and has been hospitalized several times throughout high school and middle school. 

No one answers right away, and Spot busies himself with his phone. He’s gotten the ball rolling, now all he needs to do is wait for the momentum to build. Albert and Race are inquisitive enough, Finch cares enough about Crutchie, and Davey looks out for everyone. The only wild card is Jack, who ordinarily wouldn’t even be a wild card. Spot would bet money with everyone but Race that if this were anyone else who decided to stay behind and was rumored to be sick, Jack would be all over it. 

“Is there anything going around?” Race asks, and Davey shakes his head. Spot, currently connected to the Bluetooth speaker, scrolls through his music selection. Jack likes country; he won't play a note of it. What does Jack hate? Older music, classic rock from the’80s and ‘90s. 

He selects a song, and Finch cheers once. Jack puzzles his way through the opening, rolling his eyes as the music registers in his mind. 

_ “Sometimes I feel I’ve got to…run away, I’ve got to…get away...from the pain you drive into the heart of me…”  _

Race whips his head enthusiastically at the beats in the music. From across the boat, Albert does the same. Spot makes sure not to smile.

“Are we sure Crutchie is okay though?” Finch asks. 

“If Crutchie needs help, he’ll let us know,” Jack snaps. “He’s good at taking care of himself, and he knows what he can handle. He’d be pissed if he thought you guys were gossiping about him.” Davey raises his eyebrows and places a hand on Jack’s arm. Jack grins a little, face going goofy, and focuses back on the wheel. 

_ “Once I ran to you,” _ Race sings. Albert echoes him with a grin, and Spot slings an arm over Race’s shoulders.  _ “Now I’ll run from you. This tainted love you’ve given.” _ Spot wants to kiss him, but knows it would be a horrible idea. He’d lose the friendship he’s worked so hard on, but damn if Race doesn’t look so pretty, clear blue eyes and a glittering smile. 

Race turns to Spot dramatically, holding an imaginary microphone to his mouth, leaning unnecessarily close. If Spot moved forward even five inches, they would be kissing.  _ “I give you all a boy could give you.” _ Spot nearly chokes.  _ “Take my tears and that’s not nearly all…”  _

_ “Oh, tainted love!” _ Albert screeches from the other side of the boat. Davey grins as Jack rolls his eyes. 

_ “Tainted love,” _ Race continues, waggling his eyebrows in Spot’s face. He stands up, beginning a dance routine that involves a lot of hips and legs. Spot wonders how many times he and Albert have practiced in the mirror, because the redhead immediately joins him. Finch films them. 

So what if he played this song, knowing Race loves it? Sue him, he’s a good friend. A good friend who likes his best friend. He’s known it for a while, but still. 

Fuck, this isn’t getting any easier. 

~

_ A video plays on Finch’s Snap story, of Race and Albert dancing on a boat, dramatically showcasing original choreography to Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love.” It’s not complicated, but clearly rehearsed. The boat limits their space.  _

_ “Now, I know, I’ve got to—” the speaker croons, and Race extends his right hand before spinning into Albert, a hand on his chest. “Run away, I’ve got to—“ Albert dips Race quickly, Race’s left leg bent in passé. “Get away. You don’t really want anymore from me, to make things right.”  _

_ The camera catches Spot’s slightly awestruck face in the corner, eyes wide. From behind the phone, Finch snickers. The music and the dancing continue, spectacular in every aspect.  _

_ “You need someone to hold you tight. And you think that love is to pray, but I’m sorry, I don’t pray that way!”  _

~ 

They get home and Crutchie is asleep. This in itself is surprising, but the quiet is more discomforting. Jack walks into the house and, if he didn’t take care to pay such close attention, it would be easy to forget Crutchie was even here. 

As they hang towels on the deck railing, Jack slips inside. He heads down the hall to Crutchie’s room. The door is tightly closed, so he knocks softly. 

“Crutchie?” No response comes, so Jack slowly twists the handle and the door glides open. He blinks at the sight: Crutchie’s tousled hair in his eyes, curled into a small ball on the bed. His crutches lean against the wall. 

He does not look happy, and it breaks Jack’s heart. 

He takes a step or two inside, hand still attached to the doorframe, an anchor, to keep him from doing anything. The thin blanket has fallen away from his friend’s sleeping frame, and Crutchie shifts, troubled, against the mattress. 

“ _ Muleta _ ?” Jack asks again, this time in Spanish. It’s a nickname he hasn’t called Crutchie in a very long time, and suddenly he’s afraid the other boy was awake to hear it. “Are you awake, Crutchie?” 

The other boy doesn’t respond, and Jack lets out a sigh. He reaches for the thin blanket and gently, slowly lifts it over Crutchie’s frame. Tightly woven fabric spreads across the expanses of the sheets, devouring and obscuring Crutchie’s small form. Jack loves him like this. If only he was peaceful while he slept. 

Crutchie and Jack have spent many nights together; they’ve been friends since Jack moved into a foster home with Crutchie. He’d immediately looked after the younger boy, who at the same time looked after him. 

Jack’s mother was an immigrant from Puerto Rico, and his father a lurching, stumbling man from New York. He spent his first five years with them, learning broken words of Spanish and English, before his mother was arrested and his father on probation. Last he’s heard, they moved to Santa Fe, a city his mother talked of fondly. 

He’s been shuttled from foster home to foster home since, finally ending at one in the seventh grade and getting adopted by Medda in eighth. He met Crutchie at one in the fifth grade, and the two have stayed close since then. He’s the only friend Jack has really held onto from that early on. He met Spot in middle school, but the two didn’t work together well until high school, and they still butt heads. 

He knows Crutchie has issues; hell, they all do. But his friend’s been doing worse, and he suspects he’s the cause. He’s worked so hard to hide how important Crutchie is to him; the depth borders on fanatical. But he thinks Crutchie might know, and that it’s made him upset and distant. 

He’s still shaking on the inside from the Lemonheads. Thank God for Finch. 

_ “¿Qué vamos a hacer?”  _ He mutters, Spanish soothing on his tongue.  _ What are we going to do? _ He speaks Spanish when he’s alone, his mother’s language, for as much of a show as he puts on for the others, he’s not past them, not past her, not past trying to hold onto what he should forget. He speaks it to remember, he speaks it to relearn who he used to be, what his dreams are built on. 

“Jack?” 

Davey calls his name from behind him, and Jack closes his eyes. When he hears his friend’s voice all he can think about is the kiss in Walmart, Davey’s eyes hurt when the other customer began speaking, his wide-eyed surprise when Jack pulled him close and kissed him. Jack had known it was Davey’s first kiss, something he’s romanticized since he was little. He knows what he took, and knew it when he took it. He can’t stand himself for it. 

“Jack, hey.” Davey shifts his weight; Jack can tell because of the sound. How is it that the notice of his friends brings him such guilt? “Is something wrong?” 

“No,” Jack says quietly, and smooths the blanket down as lightly as he can before moving away. “Just wanted to check on Crutchie. He’s asleep.” 

Davey motions for him to leave the room, and with one backwards glance at Crutchie’s restless, unhappy form, Jack does. Davey closes the door quietly behind him, and leans against the wall on the other side of the doorframe. “Are the two of you okay?” He asks. “You’ve seemed out of sorts, and I didn’t know if he was the cause.”

Jack shakes his head. “I haven’t apologized to you yet,” he says, and Davey considers him with a thoughtful expression, like he does when he concentrates on a hard problem. Like he’s brought all attention to the forefront. “For Walmart.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Davey says. “I got worked up and I shouldn’t have said the things I did, or stayed so silent. Or acted so embarrassed. You don’t embarrass me.”

“But I kissed you,” Jack says. “I didn’t ask.” 

“I was surprised,” Davey says in agreement. “And I’ll still be surprised and a little disappointed for a while, but I’m not mad at you. Not for that. Not for standing up for me, and not for calling someone out for their behavior, even if it was to prove a point.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, worlds away, the door to Crutchie’s room separating them. 

“You don’t have to be,” Davey repeats. 

“I took something from you that you can never get back.” 

“It was just a kiss, Jack,” Davey says. “There will be others.” Jack says nothing, just tipping his head back against the wall. If he imagines, he can hear movement in Crutchie’s room. The kid was fast asleep when he left, and he hopes they didn’t wake him. If only because he has no idea how to be around him anymore without losing everything. 

“You were speaking Spanish,” Davey says instead, when Jack remains silent. “I thought you didn’t really do that.”

“It’s different with Crutchie,” Jack says, but doesn’t know where to start explaining all the reasons why. “You know we were in a foster home together, and we stuck pretty tight after that. He’s heard me speak it so much, he picks up on pieces of it, and he sometimes asks Romeo to teach him phrases. We’re like—“ he panics. “Brothers, you know?” 

Crutchie’s door opens as he speaks, and Jack nearly throws up. 

“Hey Crutchie,” he says, trying to throw some casualness to mask the nauseated tone of his voice. “I was about to come in and check on you.” The remnants of sleep still cling to the smaller boy’s frame, and he raises a hand to push his hair away from his face. 

“I’m good,” Crutchie says, giving him a small smile. His sleep-tousled hair falls into his eyes and Jack can’t help but think he’s adorable. “What did you guys do on the boat?” 

“We just drove it around to Spot’s horrible music,” Jack says. “Race and Albert performed a rendition of ‘Tainted Love’ that you can find on Finch’s snap story. I think Spot might have a video, but he might have been too busy watching Race.” 

Crutchie gives a chuckle, and Jack knows his friend, knows how he sounds when he forces things. The laugh nearly breaks his heart. 

“I’ll go find Finch then,” Crutchie says, and Jack nods robotically. He feels a thousand worlds away. “Those two dancing isn’t something I’d want to miss.” He begins to head down the hall, before turning to look over his shoulder. “You guys coming?” 

“In a minute,” Jack says, strangled. He needs to get out of here, somewhere he can breathe. What has he done to himself? 

Crutchie looks between Jack and Davey before wiggling his eyebrows. “Got it,” he says, and Jack wants to scream that he’s wrong, that he has it all mixed up, but everyone thinks he’s dating Davey, and he doesn’t want to break anyone’s hearts but no matter what that will happen. Maybe it’s better if Crutchie thinks that anyway because he doesn’t want his best friend to be creeped out by how much he cares for him. “Take your time.” 

“We’ll be there in a second,” Davey says, but from the look on Crutchie’s face, he doesn’t believe him. Jack watches his friend leave, and slumps against the doorframe with a whine. 

“Davey, I do everything wrong,” he mumbles, banging his head gently against the wall. 

“You don’t,” Davey offers, but Jack is too miserable to listen. 

“I mess everything up. I push Crutchie away, I kissed you, I…”

“It wasn’t a bad kiss,” Davey pushes out, staring at him. The eye contact is so startling that Jack can’t break it. “If it was anyone, I’m glad it was you, Jack. You didn’t waste it, or take something I wasn’t comfortable giving to you.” Jack feels like a fish on a hook, being deeply gutted, pulled somewhere he’s certain he doesn’t want to go. There’s such a deep pain behind Davey’s words, pain that Jack only understands because he experiences it as well. 

“Davey…” Jack begins, but is cut off again. 

“You should go get some sleep, Jack,” he says. “No offense, but you look terrible. And I can only take so many people nearly freaking out on me today.” He begins to head in the same direction Crutchie went in. “And Jack?” 

“Yeah?” Jack asks, having swallowed the worm and taken the bait, sure he won’t be prepared for what comes next. He’s correct. 

“If you…if you’re ever gonna kiss me again, would you ask?” 

Fish out of water. Oxygen. Struggling to breathe, through the faults of his own. Poor Davey, poor Crutchie, and here is Jack killing them both slowly and strangely, with gestures and feelings and his own worthless actions. 

“Yeah, Dave. Yeah. I’ll ask.” And Davey’s gone with his clear-blue gaze, sharp nose, and moon-soft skin, all charcoal lines and watercolor smiles. And with him goes the art, the art that deserts Jack in the way that pain refuses to, this heart-deep ache that stings like loneliness but provides his company. This heartbreak thing that eats and eats and consumes, that may devour eventually but will never be satisfied. 

Jack goes to bed. He’ll have more guests in the morning. He’ll have to do this all again.


	2. if it’s you, i choose to choose (only hold what we will lose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapter titles written by me. 
> 
> Music mentioned in today’s chapter:  
> “You May Be Right” by Billy Joel  
> “Small Talk” by Call Security
> 
> Enjoy, friends.

Albert doesn’t expect to get hit by a shoe, but it’s probably what he deserves. He hasn’t shut up about Elmer coming up to the lake house this morning since he woke up. He probably won’t use his bunk much, even though Race and Spot claimed both the top bunks in a room with two bunk beds. He’ll probably make his way over to Elmer’s in the middle of the night. Even if just to annoy Race. 

Aforementioned shoe thumps against his arm and falls to the floor. Albert blinks at Race, mid-sentence while Finch laughs behind them. Crutchie snorts, and Albert glares at his friend. 

“Rude,” he says. “Why are your shoes off?” 

“To make you shut up!” Race screams over the breakfast table. Head in hands, Davey mumbles at the noise. “What’s wrong with  _ you _ ?” 

“Davey’s not a morning person,” Jack says. 

“I’m surprised you are, Cowboy,” Finch says. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets up before noon.” 

“Late to bed, early to rise,” Jack says, and his expression hardens. Albert would describe it as the hardening of instant cement, if he could remember more what it looked like. Maybe Elmer would know, since he works with pottery on his free afternoons. Although they’re not the same thing. “I had to be,” Jack continues, and Crutchie’s focus shifts to Jack instead of mutilating his pancakes. Albert’s phone dings, and he looks down at it excitedly. 

“They’re on the exit!” He exclaims, and shovels the last bits of the pancakes Jack made into his mouth. “Jack, where’s the dishwasher? They’re like ten minutes away.” 

“You can literally see it, Al,” Jack laughs, and Crutchie goes back to his pancakes, poking them with his fork. Albert spares him a glance, but looks away when Spot shuffles into the kitchen. 

He grumbles something unintelligible, and Race’s entire face goes soft. His smirk fades, replaced with a tender smile, and Albert almost throws up. Those two need to get their shit together, and soon. At least now he’ll have Elmer to distract him. Or Elmer to  _ distract _ .

“Pancakes, Spot,” Race says, and pats the empty seat beside it. “Want me to grab you a plate?” Spot slides into the chair and places his forehead on the table, groaning as an answer. Davey mumbles something into his hands, and Jack rubs his hand slowly over his friend’s shoulder. 

“You’re up early,” Jack says, far too cheerful for the morning, and several pairs of eyes, Albert’s included, look at him like they’ve contemplated the downsides to murder and still found it favorable. 

Spot mumbles something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like “Fuck off, Jack.” Albert snorts, and then notices Race’s hand creeping between Spot’s shoulder blades. Those two  _ need _ to get it together. 

“You’re not much better, Jack,” Crutchie says, but they all know Jack is always the first or second one up. If Albert didn’t know better, he’d think the other boy had insomnia. As it is, he just rises with the sun. 

Something clicks, and Jack jumps to his feet. “Coffee’s done!” He chirps, and Race joins him in a search through the cabinets for mugs, one shoe on, the other somewhere near the vicinity of Albert’s chair. Davey looks up, and Albert is surprised at how terrible he looks. 

“I’m so excited,” Albert says for what may well be the fifth time. “They’re only a couple minutes away.” 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Davey, Spot, and Race say in unison. 

“I haven’t seen Elmer in three weeks,” Albert says. “Leave me alone.” He delves back to his phone, trying unsuccessfully to see where Elmer is using Snap Map. 

“Why that long?” Race asks, coffee cup in hand. “I don't think I've gone more than a week this year without seeing Spot.” The entire table stares at him, even Spot, who raises the side of his face to look at him. “Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Hey, coffee’s ready.” He slides a mug in front of Finch, and turns around for another one. Jack sets a plastic cup with a child’s lid down in front of Spot, who stares at it for several moments before throwing him the middle finger. 

“Because he’s been so busy with that culinary program he got in, and then he’s been going to stuff for his siblings that I wasn’t able to go to, and then he’s also taking his summer pottery class with a few professionals. He hasn’t had a break in a while.” Albert rinses his plate in the sink and shoves it in the dishwasher. He nearly slams the dishwasher door too hard, and considers apologizing. He notices Crutchie sneaking pictures of Spot with his kid cup, and nearly snickers. 

“That’s a lot,” Finch says, and Albert nods as his phone lights up. 

“They’re here!” He exclaims, and races for the door. Jack follows behind, close on his heels. Albert skids out the front door, already grinning, and Jack shoves his way past him to sweep Specs into a hug. The older boy pats him on the back as Romeo chatters at everyone and no one. 

And then Elmer clambers out of the car, and everything else stops mattering for the moment. 

His dark hair sweeps crazily around his face, and the wildness of it matches the smile stretched across his face. Albert moves toward him, and cups his hands around his boyfriend’s elbows. Elmer grins at him, his own hands coming up to rest on Albert’s shoulders. 

“Hey, you,” he says, and runs a thumb along a bone in Albert’s shoulder. There are weights that fall wherever he touches. Albert drinks in the sight of him, pulls him tight so he can feel the heat of him, and doesn’t try to contain his smile. 

“Long ride, baby?” Albert asks, and Elmer nods. 

“Better now,” he says, and pulls Albert down to him. Albert could count the freckles spattering his nose and cheek, and he has, many times when Elmer’s stayed the night, both of them tucked close in Albert’s bed and tired from the day. “Much better.” 

Albert hums in agreement, touching his forehead to Elmer’s. “It’s been too long.” 

“Almost a month,” Elmer says, and frowns. “What are we going to do in college?” 

“We’ll make it through,” Albert says, and the giddiness in his stomach lessens a bit. Elmer smoothes his fingers across Albert’s shoulders again, and Albert pulls him into a proper hug. “We’re us.” 

“I know,” Elmer says, and kisses him on the cheek. Albert tilts his head, ready to turn the peck into a real kiss, but he’s interrupted by Jack clearing his throat. 

“If you two are done, there’s luggage to bring in.” Jack says, and Albert buries his face in Elmer’s hair. 

“I’ll drown him,” he says. “I really will, he’s a cockblock if there ever was one.” He breathes Elmer in, not caring how it looks, and tries to drop a kiss on the side of his neck. 

Elmer snorts and pulls away. “Later,” he says. “In our room.” 

Albert frowns again. “We’re sharing a room with other people.” 

Elmer pokes his face, smiling up at him, and Albert rewraps his arms around his boyfriend. “We’ll manage,” he says. “Even if it means we wait.” 

“You think I want to?” Albert murmurs in his ear. “With you here, looking so pretty? Baby, I don’t know if I can, I wanna do something about it right now.” 

Elmer giggles, but he’s flushing, and his hands tighten on Albert’s arms. “Settle down, you animal,” he laughs, leaning into Albert again. 

“When it comes to you, never,” Albert says, and is pleased with the little intake of breath he gets from his close proximity. “Everyone inside can wait.” 

“We have pancakes!” Jack calls. “Please stop eyefucking each other and get in here!” 

“That’s what she said,” Race chirps, and Albert looks up to see that everyone else has come outside. Romeo and Jack simultaneously hit Race, who snickers. The only ones missing are Spot and Davey. (“That wasn’t even a good one,” Jack groans.) 

“Pancakes?” Elmer asks Albert, smiling. 

“They’re okay,” he says in reply, letting go of Elmer in favor of grabbing onto his hand. “I can think of something that would be better.” 

“Knock it off,” Elmer groans, but tightens his grip on Albert’s hand. Albert grins, running his thumb along his finger, and leans into him. “I mean it, Al.” 

“Fine,” Albert says, drawing in a long breath and letting Elmer pull away to grab his suitcase. He hefts his boyfriend’s backpack over his shoulder as Elmer grabs the strap on his suitcase and hauls it out of the trunk. “Upstairs? I can give you a tour in a little bit.” 

“Let me say hi to everyone first,” Elmer giggles, and Albert slides a hand along his back, cupping the side of his waist with his broad palm. Elmer grins a little wider, and that makes everything worth it. 

So he patiently listens to Elmer chatter about his culinary program with Jack, who seems relieved to have someone else to help cook meals who can manage in a kitchen on their own. Crutchie tries, but he has to be told every single step and seek confirmation that he’s done it correctly. (Finch is not allowed. Finch tried to put a can in the microwave three days ago. Finch is banned from the kitchen.) It’s nice to know that Elmer had fun, and see it on his face. Texting hadn’t been the same, nor was FaceTime a substitute for seeing him in person. 

Finch chatters excitedly after Jack backs away, going to speak to Romeo who’s currently engaged in conversation with Race and Specs. Albert casts a glance at Crutchie, watching it all happen, before turning his attention back to Elmer and shifting his weight. The backpack is kind of heavy. What did Elmer pack in here? 

He first met Elmer their sophomore year of high school, but had been so consumed by his crush on Race for the first year that he hadn’t paid him much mind. And then junior year, and he managed to work past things and understand that he and Race just weren’t something that would work. Race had met Spot, really, and Albert quietly moved on. 

And, of course, there was Elmer. The boy’s got a simple face, cheery and sweet, but he’s almost always the second one to get hit on, following Jack. It’s probably the softness that crosses his face when he smiles. 

It’s not to say that Elmer is gentle. He’s one of the fiercest of the group, second only to Spot. He just doesn’t let it take over unless there’s a just occasion. Even Race and Albert can’t hold a candle to either of them. Albert had been surprised, the first time he saw him get truly angry. It had been an overpowering force. Someone had said something about Romeo and his immigration status, and Elmer had lost his shit. The guy ended up with a swelling jaw and a black eye within a minute. Albert had been thoroughly impressed. 

“Babe,” he says in Elmer’s ear quietly. Elmer nudges him with his elbow as he continues to chatter to Finch, bright smiles between them both. Albert shifts the backpack on his shoulder and frowns. It’s heavy, and he’s getting a little tired of carrying it when he wants to be doing other things. 

_ “Babe,” _ he says again, and Elmer turns halfway around, his head tilted up and his neck at a pretty angle. Albert immediately wants to kiss it. 

“Right,” Elmer says, and reaches down to squeeze Albert’s hand. “Finch, I’m probably gonna go put my stuff away so Al doesn’t have to hold it all.” He gives another pretty brown-eyed smile, cheeks scrunching with the adorable dimple making an appearance. 

“That’s cool,” Finch says, “I have to say hi to Romeo and Specs anyway. I think you’re in the room with Race and Spot.” 

Elmer wheels on Albert. “Seriously? We’re with  _ them _ ?” 

“Hey!” Race shouts, glaring, and then immediately dives back into his conversation. 

“ _ Why _ ?” Elmer asks, ignoring their hyperactive friend. “Do you know how much unresolved sexual tension we’re going to have to sit through? How much  _ pining? _ How did you let this happen?” 

“We both have bottom bunks,” Albert says glumly. 

“Don’t get pissy just ‘cause you’re a top,” Elmer snaps, although there’s amusement hiding behind his eyes. “You’re telling me they both wanted a top bunk?” 

“They’re gonna have issues then,” Albert says jokingly. 

Elmer rolls his eyes. “The biggest issue they have is that they’re not together.” Albert nods in agreement. “Seriously, is anyone going to do anything about it? You’re Race’s best friend, shouldn’t you be able to say something to him?” 

“Spot is Race’s best friend,” Albert reminds him, gently ushering him through the door and toward the staircase. Elmer hefts his suitcase up high to clear the stairs. They reach the top, and he gratefully sets the bag down again. “Just because Race likes him doesn’t mean that goes away. It’s just different, ‘cause Race doesn’t have a big fat crush on me.” 

“You’re right,” Elmer says, opening the door while he snickers. He walks into their room, still looking back at Albert. “And Race has had a crush on Spot since he met him.” 

Albert goes to agree, but— _ shit.  _

“Hey, Spot,” he says weakly, and Elmer freezes. 

Spot grunts in answer, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and Race’s coffee mug between his hands. Albert starts dripping in sweat just looking at him. Both sweat from the heat and from his now-shaking nerves. Damn, they’ve messed up. 

Unless… 

“Elmer’s here,” Albert says, and Elmer waves. Spot continues to stare down at Race’s coffee mug, blanket bunched on his considerably broad shoulders. He’s almost catatonic in the mornings, and it takes either threats (Jack and Race) or coaxing (Race) to get him to do anything. 

Spot doesn’t reply. “Did you hear anything I said?” Albert asks, the nervousness starting to slide away. Elmer throws a look at him, one that suggests Albert should play it safe, and sets down his suitcase next to the bottom bunk that’s currently unoccupied. When he does that, Albert’s eyes narrow. 

“No,” Spot grunts. “Was it important?” 

“No,” Albert says. “Maybe a little, but I doubt you’ll care. What are you doing on my bed?” 

Spot blinks and looks around himself. “Shit. Forgot this wasn’t mine. I thought I climbed up the ladder already.” 

Elmer exchanges a glance with Albert. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” Spot says, but his eyes begin to droop closed again. Albert steps in to rescue Race’s coffee mug before Spot drops it on his bed. “Just a little tired.” Spot gives a sleepy protest when his mug is removed from his hands, but Albert doesn’t give it much weight. The terror of the east coast, and he’s nothing more than an exhausted kid. 

“What the hell,” Albert says, half-marveling at the other’s ability to stay in a sleep-like state after drinking a cup and a half of coffee. 

“Race!” He hears Elmer bellow from the hallway, and Spot mumbles out a groan, pulling his blanket over his shoulders again. “Come take care of Spot!” The further noise causes Spot to draw the blanket nearly over his head. Albert sets the coffee mug on the bedside table as Elmer re-enters the room and Race pounds up the stairs. 

“What happened?” Race asks before he even gets into the room. He stops, an unnerving softness spreading across his face. Spot blinks up at him, peeking out from under the blanket. “You good, Spotty?” 

“Tired,” is the reply, and Elmer rolls his eyes at the look on Race’s face. “Albert won’t let me sleep.” The exhaustion only enhances the gruffness of his voice. Albert nearly snorts, but there’s something about seeing Race like this, oblivious to anyone else in the room except Spot. A long-ago jealousy makes memory present: there was a time when all Albert wanted was for Race to look at him like that. Not now, of course, but when you spend so long devoting your heart to another, sometimes it’s hard to let go of what you wanted to have. Even if you’ve found something different, something yours. 

“Well , it’s not your bed, dumbass,” Race says, voice falling tender from his throat. “It’s his, and it’s time to start the day anyway. You’ve already had…is that my coffee?” 

“Figured you wouldn’t mind,” Spot says, and Albert reaches for Elmer’s hand. As much as he loves Race and wants him to have this moment with the guy he likes, he really just wants to push his boyfriend onto the bed and jump his bones. Which means Race and Spot have to go. 

“Let’s take it downstairs,” Race says, and Albert shoots him a grateful look that goes unseen. Spot stands up, grumbling, while Race says things too low for Albert to hear. Elmer hands them the mug on their way out, and closes the door behind him.

Elmer smiles to himself, straightening his suitcase and beginning to unzip it. Albert watches him incredulously. 

“What are you doing?” Albert asks, strangled. Elmer looks up, confusion tangling in his brow. 

“Unpacking?” He asks, like he can’t imagine anything else. 

“Babe, I love you, but you’re so fucking dumb,” Albert tells him, striding across the room and latching a hand on Elmer’s jaw. He tilts his boyfriend’s head up and kisses him hard. Elmer’s hands slide up to his shoulders in a slow, sensuous stroke. “We got everyone out of our room and the first thing you do is unpack?” 

“It has to get done,” Elmer murmurs against his mouth. 

“I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Albert tells him, changing the angle and sliding one arm around Elmer’s waist. “You dumbass, we’re not unpacking for hours.” 

“Ambitious,” Elmer laughs, and then gasps as Albert kisses down his neck.

“I’ll show you ambitious,” Albert says, pushing Elmer backwards onto his bed. The other yelps, and Albert wastes no time kissing him to smother the noise. 

Finally. Alone at last. 

~

Jack resists the urge to cover his ears. 

The group, minus Albert and Elmer, have gathered in the big room on the main floor. They’re all trying to ignore the faint noise coming from upstairs. They’re trying really hard, and it’s not working. 

“I’m gonna kill them,” Spot says. 

“They haven’t seen each other for weeks,” Romeo says, and then ducks his head when Spot trains a fierce glare on him. The younger boy then looks up pleadingly at Race, who shrugs and sticks his tongue out. Romeo deflates. 

“They literally could not wait,” Davey grumbles, and Jack throws an arm around his shoulder. Davey gives him a soft, tired smile. He looks beautiful as always. Crutchie makes eye contact with Jack and then turns to Finch. 

Jack takes a minute to study the two of them, tuning out their banal chatter. Crutchie’s curled his torso in, shoulders somewhere near his neck. Finch, on the other hand, has broad shoulders exposed and open, leaning weight on his right hand to be closer to Crutchie’s words. Crutchie looks somewhere at the wall. Finch’s gaze is trained on the smaller boy’s eyes. He takes no distractions, he makes no mistakes. Jack envies his openness. It’s a luxury he cannot afford. 

“Can I put on music?” Romeo asks, and Jack nods, pointing out a speaker he brought with him. Romeo connects his phone as Specs pulls out a game of Clue from his backpack. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Spot hisses, square features alight. “I’m playing, prepare to die.”

“Brave talk for one so small,” Romeo clucks, and Race grins. 

“You’re the same height as me, asshole,” Spot responds. Romeo sends him a wink, and Specs smacks him on the back of the head. 

“There are eight of us, and six pieces,” Jack says, opening the box. 

“Teams,” Romeo says. “Specs is on mine.” They exchange a fist bump, and Jack turns to Davey. 

“Be on my team?” He says, arm now back around his friend’s shoulders. Davey nods, grinning. He’s slowly begun to move over the fugue state he’d been in. The coffee definitely helped. 

“Wait, so you four are on teams? And the rest of us are by ourselves?” Race says. 

“Sucks,” Jack says, and Race sticks his tongue out. 

“I’m Miss Scarlet,” Crutchie says immediately, snatching the red piece before Spot can. The other boy glares, and Crutchie tosses him the patented smile he always gives when he’s feeling mischievous. For once, it looks less like glass and more like sunshine. Jack’s heart soars for a minute. Then Crutchie looks over at him, with Jack’s arm still across Davey’s shoulders, and the radiance lessens a bit. 

“Colonel Mustard,” Race yells, scooping the yellow piece from the box. Spot makes a dive for it at the same time, and Race swats at his hands. They launch into a fight, squabbling, and everyone snatches pieces from the box as quickly as possible. Jack and Davey end up with Mr. Green, Finch with Mrs. Peacock, and Romeo and Specs with Mrs. White. They set their pieces on the board, which is nearly overturned by Race’s flailing, socked foot. 

As Romeo searches for music, Race and Spot cease arguing. Spot’s eyes go comically round when he sees the only piece left. 

“Professor Plum?” He half-yells. A noise comes from upstairs, and Race snickers while Jack shudders. Elmer and Albert are on laundry duty for today. “He’s the worst.” 

“That’s why you have him,” Race chirps. He shrieks as Spot smacks him in the head. Jack grins, watching his friends, and feels Davey lean into his shoulder. It’s a dangerous game the two of them play, and he wonders when they’ll shatter the rules completely. 

Music fades in from the speaker. Jack sighs, hearing Davey begin to sing as Billy Joel serenades the room. Romeo and Finch match the instrumental, laughing so much they can barely sing. 

_ “Friday night, I crashed your party. Saturday, I said I’m sorry…”  _

Jack refrains from singing along but watches Davey sing, grinning the whole time. Race dances in his seat, Spot trying not to laugh. Finch, Crutchie, and Romeo form an odd trio, high on the music. Specs knows every word of the song.

They set up the game. Jack forgets that he doesn’t know how to laugh, lets it bellow from his lips like a bullhorn, and he even catches Crutchie’s eyes once or twice. Davey’s arm is heavy and warm around his neck and that’s the only thing he can feel guilty about right now. Davey smiles into the side of his face and Jack laughs and laughs and laughs and  _ laughs— _

And catches Spot frowning in his direction halfway through the game, as Davey asks a question Jack doesn’t remember, as Romeo makes his way to the bathroom (“Second door on the right, straight on ‘till morning, try not to get lost,” Jack calls after him) and Specs gets confused over something, and Jack closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look. The laughter echoes in his ears and he wonders if he brought his medicine. Surely Davey wouldn’t let him forget it. 

“Carry the team for a second, yeah?” Jack asks, grin fixed firmly in place. Davey nods, smiling now that they’ve got an idea of what’s going on. They’re close to winning, with only three boxes unchecked. 

“Where are you going?” Specs asks, and Jack tries not to read too much into the look Crutchie gives him. Jack watches him from the corner of his eye, trying to keep an eye on him without making it clear he’s looking. 

“Kitchen,” Jack says. He slides out from under Davey’s arm and stands, music thumping in his ears. He offers no explanation for leaving, and the room subsides back into laughter and competition (fierce from everyone except Finch and Specs). Jack hopes the game ends soon. 

He loses track of time as the songs switch, moving from all genres (Romeo’s Billy Joel, a few songs by the emo bands Specs favors, and then a few lighthearted tunes Jack knows Race suggested) to settle on a song he’s never heard before. It’s less upbeat, more personal, and Jack scrolls through his phone while he drinks water, trying to tune out the underlying emotions of the song that threaten to drag him down. He’s doing fine. He’s been just fine for days, for weeks, for months even, and he’ll be doing fine for the rest of his life. Just peachy, brilliant, absolutely stellar—

“Jack?” Race asks from behind him, music still unsettlingly personal behind him. “Are you—why are you crying?” 

Well. That’s something new. He hasn’t done that in a while. Hasn’t had a moment like this where he can’t remember doing something for a whole year. Or maybe he has. Maybe he just didn’t notice. 

Jack shrugs, going back to his phone. “Didn’t notice. Don’t worry, it’ll go away in a while.” He has a million excuses, all of them true. Headache, tired, not enough sleep, not enough caffeine, allergies, etc. Getting a cold. He’s used them so many times they no longer feel like lies inside his mouth. What is the truth, but filtered perception? 

“What if it doesn’t?” Race asks, and Jack is reminded just how much of a little brother he can be, sometimes. Race is only a few months younger than he is, but right now it feels like years. 

“Then it doesn’t,” he says, for a lack of other things to say. It’s the truth. If it doesn’t get better, it doesn’t matter. He’ll die like this if he has to. 

“Jack, I’m worried.” The statement comes out flat, Race’s blue eyes pleading. The music turns up louder, and Jack rubs at his temples. 

“Why?” 

“You’re starting to scare me. You space out all the time, and you don’t care about half the stuff you used to care about.” 

“That’s not true,” Jack says, face hot. 

“When’s the last time you’ve drawn?” Race asks. 

“Two weeks ago,” Jack says triumphantly, ready to shoot down Race’s argument. “For summer art class for school. I did a whole collection piece.” It had been landscapes, which he loves, but which lacked his usual flair. He’s going to rework them. Maybe. 

“But outside of school?” Race persists, drumming his fingers on the table. He never could sit still. 

“That picture of you and Romeo,” Jack says. “The one from a couple weeks ago.” 

Race blinks at him. “Jack, that was from months ago. You painted that in April.” 

Had it really been that long? Time is a blurry concept. He puts most of his energy into making it through the day. It seems like years have passed since April. 

“I’m going to paint something from this trip,” Jack says. “A group picture or something. I’ll know it when we take it.”

Race perks up. “Really? That would be cool.” He taps a fast rhythm onto the countertop, his foot bouncing along on the barstool. “Maybe something with the water.” 

“Maybe,” Jack says. He closes out of his phone. His respite is over, it seems. Thanks, Race. “Let’s get back to the game.” 

As they enter the living room, the music switches to something more upbeat. Lively and pretty and something he could get carried away by so easily. Jack recognizes one of Crutchie’s songs with a sinking feeling in his gut. 

_ “We kiss like shadows, and talk in the night air—too thick for breath so it feels like we’re drowning…”  _

He knows this one. He knows every damned word. 

Davey gives him a smile from across the room, and Jack pads over to sit by him, flinging his arm back over his shoulders. Crutchie sings along to the words, and Jack watches him, missing a line or two. He watches the crease in his friend’s face and feels it mirrored in his own. 

_ “We’re exhausted from lying.” _

Davey asks a question that Jack hears as if he’s underwater, the words coming through sluggish to his ears. When he gets the answer, he scribbles a box on his sheet and declares his guess with no help from Jack. “Professor Plum, in the kitchen, with the candlestick.” 

Specs unfolds the card with deft movements, Romeo fidgeting next to him. He flicks through the cards, one after the other, before reading them out dramatically. “Professor Plum,” he says, and Spot angrily slams his piece onto the game board. “In the kitchen, with…” 

The music leans into the quiet.  _ “Do you take your time and do you feel like you’re dying?”  _

‘The candlestick.” 

The room erupts with cheers. At some point, Albert and Elmer have come down the stairs. Spot fumes, Race’s elbow pressed into his side. Crutchie grins, exuberant and hollow and plate-glass. Finch high-fives Davey, who celebrates through the rest of the song. Jack feels like he’s going to scream. Davey looks at him and laughs and says “We won, we won, we  _ won _ ,” and Jack is gone, gone on that smile and those blue eyes and that confidence that’s come out of hiding. If he wanted, he could let himself fall in and never look back. 

Crutchie makes eye contact with Jack as the song ends, face tired and wan from a lack of sleep, sunny cheer trying to beam from his eyes and his delicate smile. He’s still mouthing the words to the song as Jack scrubs a hand over his face and tries not to let himself fall apart. 

_ “We start with small talk, but we know that it’s not so. We take our time ‘cause it feels like we’re dying.” _

~

_ Image: Davey with a coffee cup held in the air, towering over a game board victoriously. Jack grins up at him from the ground. Specs raises his eyebrows at their grinning faces suggestively. Spot pouts. The picture is taken selfie-style, Romeo’s grinning face visible in the corner.  _

_ There is no caption. The looks on their faces say enough.  _

~

  
  


The motor of the jet ski growls to life. Race grins, his boating license tucked in the compartment between the handlebars. Spot sits behind him, holding onto the side attachments. Albert grins at him from the other jet ski, and Race wants to be the one who tells him about the massive hickey underneath his collarbone. They’re all politely ignoring it, since it’s clear he doesn’t know. Elmer has his shirt on and won’t take it off, claiming sunburn. Everyone knows what the real reason is. 

“Ready, Spottie?” Race crows, as Specs and Jack help push them out of the marina dock. They’ve got gas, which is great, and Spot hasn’t been on a jet ski before. He’s looking forward to this. He puts the watercraft into reverse, and uses the poles of the overhead structure to guide their way out. 

“Not a dog,” Spot says, and Race imagines him gripping the side handles tightly. This is something he wishes he could see, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else bring Spot out before him. There are some firsts he’s selfish enough to take for himself. 

“You know you love it,” Race says, meaning the nickname, and then they’re free of the marina. “Scared?” 

“In your dreams,” Spot says, even though he’s wrong. Race dreams of nothing more than making him happy. 

Race sits quietly for a moment, watching Albert zip around on the lake with Romeo clinging onto the back for dear life, and then Jack as he expertly maneuvers the motorboat out onto the water. Music thrums from a speaker set somewhere, Jack’s telltale country blasting out over the shimmery surface. The motor chuffs softly, and Race follows behind him in the NO WAKE zone contentedly. 

“Why is the sign yelling at us?” Spot says, apparently sharing Race’s singular braincell. He leans over to take a picture as they pass, and Race slows down as much as he can. If Spot drops his phone, he’ll never hear the end of it. 

“I dunno,” Race says, shivering with the cool of the air and anticipation. “But it’s definitely angry.” The capital letters on the bouy stare at them as they pass. Race shivers again, goosebumps erupting over his skin. Spot reaches forward and pokes him in the arm. 

“Cold?” He asks. 

“The sun will come out in a minute,” Race says, adjusting his bright pink life vest. He and Spot had a fight over the blue one, and Race lost the quick game of rock-paper-scissors. Albert and Finch have already blasted it over Instagram and Snapchat. So what if he posed for the damn pictures? 

They reach the end of the NO WAKE zone in silence, a peaceful sort of quiet. Race feels the grin sliding over his face, settling firmly into place. He’s still waiting for the sun to come out. Until then, he’s enough. 

“I drive really wild on these things sometimes,” Race says. Spot says nothing. The wind hits them, full of coldness and the smell of water, something he feels in the back of his throat. Something he thinks about in the middle of the night, sometimes. “Think you can stay on?” 

“Your driving doesn’t scare me,” Spot shoots back. “Is there a more secure way to hang onto these?” Jack steers the motorboat past them, picking up speed. Finch and Crutchie wave, and the country music blares loudly. Albert zips past, Romeo shrieking. 

“The handles are all you got,” Race says, grinning. There’s something infectious about the atmosphere. Everyone he can see has the same smile. 

“What about this?” Spot asks, low in his ear. Race has no idea what he’s talking about, and goes to say so, but then—

Spot’s arms are around his waist. 

Shit. Shit shit  _ shit _ . 

“Is this fine?” Spot asks, and Race nearly squeaks. 

“Yeah,” he sputters out. “Yeah, you might stay on a little better that way.” 

“Cool,” Spot says, but Race isn’t focusing on his words anymore. Spot’s arms are around him, thick and strong and pulling Race’s torso firmly back against him. He almost wishes the life jackets weren’t in the way. 

“I’m gonna go faster,” Race says. “Hold on tight.” He guns the motor a little more than necessary, laughing at Spot’s high-pitched yelp behind him. The clenching of Spot’s arms around him takes him by surprise, the way he moves backward to accommodate it, pressed up against him, only the life jackets in the way. 

They rocket out over the water, hitting the wake of Albert’s jet ski and bouncing atop the waves. Spot whoops in his ear, and Race throws his head back and laughs triumphantly. He’d forgotten this feeling. He looks over at Jack, squinting against the sunlight, to see him grinning enthusiastically aboard the motorboat. Maybe this is just what Jack needs, a euphoria to bring him back to himself. 

Time passes quickly. Race gets lost in the feeling of driving the jet ski, of bouncing over the wakes of other boats. Spot’s arms never leave his waist, never loosen from their death grip. It’s nice, just the two of them, even though they’re out on the water with their friends. When he checks his watch and finds that an hour has passed, he thinks it’s time to turn things up a notch. 

“Okay, so when I’m out here I usually do some turns,” Race says. “You’re gonna wanna lean into them, which means you’re gonna have to try and anticipate it. Lean the way I lean, cool?” He says. 

“Do your worst, Higgins,” Spot murmurs in his ear, and Race shivers. “I can take it.” 

He has to swallow hard to get rid of the thoughts in his mind. “So if I turn left, which way are you leaning?” Race asks. 

“Left,” Spot says, tightening his grip on Race. The other didn’t think that was possible. 

“I’m gonna go slow for the first few,” Race says warningly. “Then I’ll go faster, but it’s important to get used to it so you don’t fall off.” 

“I said I was ready, dipshit,” Spot tells him. Race can feel his breath on his cheek. It’s terrifying in the best way. 

“Hold on tight,” he says, and then Spot’s arms jerk around his chest as he guns the motor. He leans left, long before he has to, and then yanks the wheel in the same direction. The jet ski spins, throwing water up behind them, a cold spray that’s electrifying in the sunshine. 

He takes another turn, this one to the right, curving down through the water with a stretched grin. He forgot it would feel like this. It’s better, with Spot pressed up against his back, hands latched onto his life jacket. 

“I’m going to go faster,” he says, and whips the wheel. Spot jerks against him but stays on. 

“Bring it!” Spot shouts, and Race does. 

The next turn is tighter than the others, faster and more vicious. The wind and water whip at Race’s hair. Spot makes a soft noise. Race feels his arms rip away, and the jet ski is suddenly lighter. He stops, moving the jet ski so he can see. 

Spot floats in the water, spluttering and spitting out mouthfuls of liquid. He’s soaked, and looks distinctly surprised and angry. He looks like someone tossed a water-shy pit bull into a lake. 

Race looks at him for a second longer and bursts out laughing. He can hear Albert and Romeo chuckling from their jet ski, which has gotten closer. They’re stopped as well, and Spot struggles over to the floating craft. 

“You told me to bring it,” Race says, spreading his legs and stabilizing the jet ski as Spot tries to clamber on. 

“I did,” Spot says, looking distinctly peeved. 

~

_ A video plays loudly, featuring Race’s jet ski whipping through a turn. Spot flies off the back and crashes indelicately into the water. From behind the camera, Finch crows with laughter. Jack can be heard snorting as well. The camera zooms in on Spot’s waterlogged frame. The other boy looks very rumpled, and throws up a middle finger towards the motorboat, which is floating in place.  _

_ The caption reads, “this is the third time he’s fallen off”  _

~

Someone has set up another game. Albert thinks that it’s Finch, who looks incredibly sly. The box of cards sits on the floor in the middle of the circle. Everyone is present, and the evening sun beats down heavy through the windows. They came back for dinner, having had lunch out on the water. Race got sunburnt, and hasn’t stopped complaining. There’s pink on his cheeks and shoulders, and a swipe down his arm where he somehow managed to miss with sunscreen. 

Albert hasn’t played “Cards Against Humanities” in a very long time. It’s been two weeks. He’s looking forward to it. 

Finch deals out the cards, and Albert prepares himself to take things seriously. They’re each playing on their own, with Finch starting by reaching off a card. Albert snorts gleefully at his own set of cards. He’s off to a good start. 

“I have solved politics,” Finch announces, and Albert swats Elmer away from looking at his cards. “My solution is…”He trails off to let them rifle through the cards, and Albert smirks. From across the floor, Race has a shit-eating grin. Spot puts down a card right away, followed by Romeo, rolling his eyes. 

Albert throws down his own card, and settles back to wait. Half the fun of the game is watching the faces of others as Finch turns the cards over and begins to sort through them. Eventually, they end up with four to narrow down from, and Albert’s is one of the cards. Race’s face has gone neutral, so Albert knows that he’s in as well. 

Finch looks at the cards, sighs, and then begins to read his final four out loud again. “I have solved politics. My solution is…” He lets out a small snicker. “Dating a Republican.” They lose it, and Specs, the only Republican in the room, nods in agreement. “My solution is...prison.” 

There’s a sort of hushed silence that falls, interrupted by Crutchie’s high pitched snicker. It’s the things that are true that hit the hardest. Finch grins at the sound, and then continues. “My solution is…loving America.” There’s a general round of snickers, and Finch takes them back to the final one. “My solution is…interrupting women.”

“Oh  _ shit, _ ” Race says, half in awe. “Who put that one?” 

“Interrupting women wins,” Finch says, and then pauses. “That’s not sexist to say, right? I’ll tex Lee about it.” They’d all forgotten about his Walmart girl. 

Davey reaches over and snatches the card. Albert’s jaw drops. “ _ You? _ ” He demands. “ _ You _ put that? Jack, did you see that?” 

Jack nods, grinning. There’s something stretched about his grin, but everyone’s been kind enough not to mention it. Davey sees it, clearly, and nudges his leg. His grin becomes a little less brittle. 

“Next one,” Finch says, and to his left, Spot draws a card. Everyone else replenishes their pile, and Albert looks through his new one. He either does fantastic or horrible. It’s shaping up to be a winning round of cards, if he can play his people right. 

“Why can’t I sleep at night?” Spot asks. 

“Cause I keep you up  _ all _ night, baby,” Race croons, and then immediately dissolves into hysterical, hyena-like laughter. Elmer reaches over and smacks him on the shoulder. Race shrieks, then, pleading sunburn. 

“Just put your card down, dumbass,” Spot says. Race mutters something ungrateful in Italian. Albert doesn’t know what it means, but Spot clearly does, considering the red peeking out from under his collar. Elmer shoots him a look, and he rolls his eyes. The two of them need to kiss and get on with being happy. It’s sickening to watch them. 

Albert goes through his cards once more, before putting his down. Beside him, Elmer does the same and then lays his head on his shoulders. “Stop,” Albert says, swatting him off. “You just want to look at my cards.” 

“Love tests limits in Cards against Humanity,” Romeo quips. 

“Who wants to join me in stealing the Declaration of Independence?” Race asks, and three people immediately smack him. 

“Let Spot read the cards!” Jack says. 

“Spot doesn’t know how to read them,” Race mutters sulkily. 

Spot shuffles through all the cards once and separates his favorites. “Why can’t I sleep at night?” He asks. “Being a woman.”

Someone snorts. It might have been Specs. Spot rolls his eyes, and does the next one. “Why can’t I sleep at night? Estrogen.”

“Why are all of these…” Elmer begins, but Spot talks over him.

“Why can’t I sleep at night? Jennifer Lawrence.”

“Amen,” Crutchie says, and Romeo nods. 

“Why can’t I sleep at night?” Spot says, and then his expression seems to shift. He looks at Jack and then looks away. “Daddy issues.” 

“Damn,” Finch says. “This is a good round.” 

“Why can’t I sleep at night?” Spot says quickly, and everyone tunes back into the game. Spot reads it and double-takes. “Doing it doggy, no kissing.” 

Crutchie turns very, very red, and Race reaches over to put his hands over his ears. Somewhere, Specs is crowing from laughter while Davey looks semi-disgusted. 

“All night, huh Spot?” Albert says. Spot rolls his eyes once more, and brandishes the card. 

“This one wins,” he says. “Take it and name your price, you disgusting human being.” 

Everyone pauses for a moment, and then Crutchie reaches out and snatches the card from Spot’s hand. Jack stares at him in disbelief. 

“You know what that is?” He asks, voice thin. 

“I’m literally the same age as everyone here,” Crutchie says. Jack backs off, but still looks stunned. Crutchie looks a little angry, and Albert frowns. 

“Crutchie got balls,” Race says. “It’s my turn.” 

Albert grabs another card and lets Elmer snuggle against him while they wait. The other boy is quiet, lazily tired from the day on the lake. “We’ll go a couple more rounds,” Albert says, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Then we can go upstairs.” Element lets out a sleepy sound of agreement. 

“What made my first kiss so awkward?” Race asks and then immediately holds up his hands to forestall comments. “Answer only with your cards, fellas.” 

Albert shuffles through his cards and throws one down. He’s got a good one. He’s got the best one. 

Race picks up the cards and reads them straight through. “What made my first kiss so awkward? Heteronormativity.” He quirks an eyebrow as everyone laughs. “Damn, got it in one.” Albert looks at Spot, but his expression is unreadable. 

Jack whispers something to Davey, who looks at Spot as well. Race and Spot, of course, remain oblivious. “What made my first kiss so awkward?” Race repeats and dives into his answer. “Racism. Damn, y’all. What made my first kiss so awkward? A tiny, gay guitar called a ukulele.” 

Spot snorts. “Jack knows how to play one of those.” All eyes turn toward the fool in question, except Crutchie. Jack nods his assent. 

“What made my first kiss so awkward?” Race asks, and Elmer yawns. “That, Elmer. Kidding—oh, wait, this is  _ good _ . What made my first kiss so awkward? Pretending to care.” 

Albert grins, and ruffles Elmer’s hair. He’s not even sure the other boy put in a card this round. “What made my first kiss so awkward?” Race repeats, and Albert wants to tell him to just say the answers instead of the question, every time. “Suicidal thoughts.” 

The room goes quiet with that one, a space that should be filled with noise. Race looks around, notes how Jack’s face has turned down, and quickly moves on. “The winner is pretending to care.” 

“Hell yeah,” Albert says, and retrieves the card. It’s Crutchie’s turn to read off a white card, and he wastes no time. 

“The class field trip was completely ruined by…” 

“This round, and then another,” Jack mumbles from the corner, already tossing a card in. 

“Two more after this,” Spot counters, and everyone else nods. Crutchie flips through the cards quickly, grinning. 

“These are awful, you guys. Our minds really came together on these.” 

“Just read it,” Spot groans, and Crutchie obliges. 

“The class field trip was completely ruined by...the Pope, ethnic cleansing, Auchwitz, another goddamn vampire movie, and then gypsies, Jews, and homosexuals.” 

“I want a picture of that,” Race says, and scrambles for his phone. Spot hands it to him once it’s clear that he doesn’t know he’s sitting on it. 

Crutchie contemplates the cards for a minute. “These are all funny,” he says. “Can you imagine the Pope rolling up to your field trip, and instantly everything is just horrible? I think that would make him sad.” 

“The vampire one is funny,” Albert says brightly. 

“That one was Al’s,” Elmer says. He then yelps as Albert hits him. 

“Ethnic cleansing,” Crutchie says, and Jack reaches a hand out to snag the card. Romeo pouts. “You are one horrible man, Jack Kelly.”

“The Pope was mine,” he says. Specs pats his head. 

“It’s your turn, Finch,” Crutchie says, and Finch reaches for a white card. Elmer shifts against Albert’s side. He’s still awake, but only barely. 

“What sounds great after four margaritas?” Finch asks, and Specs throws down a card with no hesitation whatsoever. Albert rifles through his deck and tosses one down without giving it a third glance. He returns his hand to Elmer’s hair, kissing the top of his head softly. 

“You alright, babe?” He asks, and Elmer nods. 

“Can the next round be our last?” He asks, and Albert nods. 

“Yeah,” he says gently. “Of course it can. I’m getting tired too.” He’s not, but he does need a little while to recharge from the day’s events. And if it’s what Elmer needs, it’s what he wants. 

“What sounds great after four margaritas?” Finch asks, copying Crutchie’s style and speeding through the highlights. “Leading children around with a magical flute. Representing the entire black community. Acting white. Shutting the fuck up. The awesome power of the Lord.” 

“Shutting the fuck up,” Race snickers, and Spot elbows him. 

“Acting white,” Finch says, grinning. Albert knows his parents, and there’s no more appropriate thing. Specs reaches out triumphantly to grab his card. 

“Last one,” Albert calls, shifting Elmer against his side. Race is starting to look tired as well, and Spot keeps giving him gentle nudges when he starts to nod off. Albert reaches for a white card, and grins. 

“This is the prime of my life. I’m young, hot, and full of…” 

The cards roll in quickly, and Albert hopes they’re not going to close out on a poor round. When he picks them up, he’s not disappointed. 

“This is the prime of my life. I’m young, hot, and full of…” He chokes from laughter. “Young, hot, and full of the homosexual agenda.” 

Race manages another cackling laugh, and Davey slumps backward into Jack’s side, grinning. Jack absently pats his head, giving Crutchie a small smile. 

“Young, hot, and full of multiple stab wounds. Always the prime time right there. Young, hot, and full of—of silence. Okay, alright. I’m young, hot, and full of—of self-loathing.” 

Elmer manages a laugh on his shoulder, and Albert scratches a gentle hand through his hair, discarding a card or two. “Last one. I’m in the prime of my life. I’m young, hot, and full of…men.” 

“Those are literally all good,” Romeo says. Finch nods agreement. Spot says nothing, which means his card is still on the floor. 

“I’m stuck between self-loathing and men,” Albert announces. 

“Aren’t we all,” Jack says, and everyone snorts. 

“Self-loathing,” Albert says, and Spot slaps the floor with his hands. 

“No!” He screeches, and Race throws back his head and laughs. “I was men! That was me! It was hilarious!” 

“I was men,” Race snickers, and Romeo launches into a tirade of laughter. 

“Wait, so who has self-loathing?” Albert asks, and Crutchie reaches out to snag the card. 

~

_ A picture of a beaming boy, hair falling into his eyes. He holds up two cards, eyes alight. The caption reads: “trust the innocent ones to win the dirtiest games”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was I writing this while my theatre group rehearsed Seize the Day? Absolutely. Did our actors playing Jack and Crutchie lock eyes romantically as Jack made his way down the stairs? Yes. Had they been told it wasn’t a romance scene? Hmm, I wonder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The next chapter will be posted as soon as possible! 
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos if your enjoyed! I’m a sucker for this fandom and need more people to talk to about it!


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